Archive for December 7, 2018


talkin’ self-indulgent blues

Artwork from Google






talkin’ self-indulgent blues






I’m talkin’ self-indulgent blues,

ramblin’ and a-rolling along,

on cobblestones,

here and there along the alleyways of this life,


seeking not much,

as such,


a few scattered smiles,

after all the miles,

more open roads, less clogged strife,


caravan-serais of hope,

of peace,

where the din briefly does cease,


where simple ways,

of bygone days,


seem cooler than the respite of the shade,

as ages pale,


and as words fade,


I’m still a-walkin’ alone,

flotsam and jetsam blurring my eyes,


as sand gets kicked and the dust flies,

my heart thrashed against cold stone,


while the mirage persists,

the promise of free skies,


still,

just there,

within reach,


slipping further into myself,

as the floodgates breach,


so don’t worry about me no more,


I’m still a-ramblin’ and a-rolling,


and know this too,

for it be true,


it is you,

who remains,


after moulted skin falls,

when the closing walls,

squeeze my straightjacket,


threatening to seal my fate,

into a vacuum-shrunk packet,


no, don’t worry about me no more,

my head is upright,

though my soul may be sore,


but I’m still a-ramblin’ and a-rollin’,


with you,


immersed deep in my core,

forever more … …




Artwork from Google

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Album cover from Google




talkin’ walkin’ along bobby dylan bluesy blues …




Why does the sun dry up so many scattered tears



Slipping down the coarse cheek of a million hushed fears



Where no one is scalded though the searing fog clears



While prayers are mutely spoken even as the end nears



We shatter and scrape on demented knees



Blindly begging for mercy as it silently flees



Searching listlessly for salvation drowned in the breeze



That spits at the soft rose suffocated by a wheeze



I know now what I need never have known



Of hope that was trampled before it had flown



Into a wasted sky filled with hate that could drown



The giggling of the crowd and the crying of the clown



A hope so fragile its wings were of brittle glass



Ripping the veneer off the sewers of class



Twisting the fabric of the weighed and costed mass



Who numbly waited hoping that it too may pass



For when shards of that hope in all hearts scurries away



To a darkness where crowded night is emptied off the heaving tray



’Tis then when sewn eyes behold that doleful day



When all shall tear at each other while on demented knees we still pray



For a lifting of the veil of that wilful deceit



That’s wrapped up in a flag swollen with conceit



While the limbs splinter in the claw of a winner’s defeat



Yet still the drums roll for the ill-fated souls chose never to retreat



From that drenched battleground where blood flows through a sieve



And love’s lost song plaintively begs for a reprieve



From eternal loss which into raw emotion does cleave



Only to slip through the fingers and like grains of sand leave …





( for Bob Dylan )



Book cover from Google

Art by Banksy




talkin’ why hope is important bluesy-blues … … …




… … … this scribble is about hope, that unweighable weighty word, often bandied about ritually, and thus its message, its voice, may be blunted by repetitive bluster, so i’ll be a-scribblin’ along, with all the gusto i may muster, since we’re talking about hope, without which the human race, us all, all of us, i dare say, would not cope, ’cause imagine an absence of something, you can’t put your finger on that feeling feeling, that oftentimes rocks at our souls, leavin’ our minds reelin’, yeah that’s right, but no propagandising today, though with me, at least, i can truly say, were it not for hope, that figment, blister on indifferent fates’ machinations, that belief, that burning in the pit of ones core, gnawing, gnashed teeth muttering, that all this pain too must eventually, pale, and that’s whats a-sometime the reason for us being heartful, and or hale, its hope, raw, deceptive, lyin’, corrosive, rusted but a-shineyed up, yeah that hope that keeps my heart pumping, its that hope that keeps me alive, and its that hope upon which, may all new flowers thrive …




Picasso’s Dove of Peace (from google)

Artwork from Google



talkin’ cynical self-absorbed lovey-dovey blues …




All those hazy moons ago, when we slept in each others arms, when we felt we were blessed, wearing those 24-carat gold matching lucky charms,


we who knew the paradise that lay ahead, the glitterati loving us – the perfect couple, who were hotter than blazing hot in bed.




All those sunshiney days of way back when, we kissed deep, our chakras aligned so in-tunely bloody zen, sinking into the obliviousness, the vacuum that was our entire universe

 then,


unaware of all else, of anyone around us as we breezed through life, floating past it all, lost in a marshmallow haze, as we sank deeper into our carefree daze.




Kisses and caresses, ensconced in our selfish crevasses, not giving a hoot, as long as you reeked of french perfume, as long as I showed-off my obscenely expensive silk suit,


as long as we valentined and new yeared ever on, blinded to the real world and all that was wrong, just so that we disappeared in each others eyes,


never sparing a thought about this, our earth, our world, as we trapezed by the multitudes, the throng,


where we should really, for heavens sakes, be simply human,


and to at least, at the very least, try to belong …




Artwork from Google




talkin’ racism shattered unblues … 







walking along these roads one day,


i met a stranger with much to say.


the stranger and i sat down to dine,


sharing each others crumbs and water under the warm sunshine,


we got to talking about our lives as such,


and as strangers do at first we didn’t say much,


but the warm sunshine and the delicious crumbs of food we shared,


moved us to talk and slowly to each other our souls we bared,


we were not alike, in every possible conventional norm,


yet as we chatted we felt a kindred spirit begin to form,


it matters not who the stranger was, it matters not the stranger’s race and religion and caste and tribe,


as we spoke for hours of this world, these differences amplified by those who feed off hate, the poisoned chalice of apartheidness we were continually given to imbibe,


we spoke of common travails, of the woes that assail us, of the troubles and joys of walking the different paths we chose to walk,


we shared the solace of our common humanity, a feeling of being one with another human being, as we for long whiles sat in enveloping silence, with no need to talk,


we sang the songs of where we came from, we whistled so many of our unique and different tunes,


as the knots of being human were binding us together, soaring over the savanna, the prairies, the oceans, the mountains, and the dusty dunes,


we laughed and we reflected, we acknowledged the sadness all of us humans share, of the thorns and the nettles, each of us talking of our personal pain,


as our cheeks streamed with tears in the coolness of a gentle passing shower of rain,


we knew not each others language, we merely spoke and cried and sang and shared as we ate from our chipped weatherbeaten plate,


we could not understand each others words, yet we understood more than we ever could, banishing the intolerance, the racism, and we doused the furnace of hate,


the stranger and i soon parted ways, with a smile and handshake and a warm tight  hug,


and as i walked away, i felt so much lighter, no longer feeling the need for all the baggage i used to lug.




the stranger and i shared one of the rarest thing i could ever find,


stripping away the colour of our skin, the gods we prayed to, the different shapes of our features, the things that in this world separate us, yes, we left all of that behind,


if only for an instant, if only for some hours spent together on our home, this earth, our common ground, our shared space …



… if only for an instant, if only for some hours spent together on our home, this earth, our common ground, our shared space,


one world,



one human race …



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